


Shaking It Out

by Sholio



Category: Iron Fist (TV)
Genre: Banter, Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 12:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: Misty pays their cover charge and snugs an arm around Colleen's waist as they mosey in. She's warm and solid against Colleen's side, her flesh-and-blood arm resting lightly just above Colleen's hip. Colleen tries not to enjoy it too much, and then gives up and decides that she's going to enjoy it as much as she wants.





	Shaking It Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melime/gifts).



"Dress for clubbing," Misty had said.

"What does that even mean?" Colleen mutters to herself now. She opts for a pair of black jeans and a tank top, and a kinda-nice leather jacket that is at least not a parka or the denim one with the sheepskin collar.

"That's what you call clubwear?" Misty says when she stops by the dojo to pick her up.

Colleen can't answer for a minute. She's never seen Misty in anything other than the casual clothes they both prefer. This is a whole new Misty, a Misty in a sparkly sequined top and a floating mesh blouse that somehow makes her arm look like a fashion accessory. Her lipstick and eyeshadow glitter.

"I could put on a sweatshirt," she manages after a moment, finding her way back to their usual level of sarcasm. "The Luke Cage ones with the fake bullet holes are all the rage with the kids, from what I've heard at the center."

Misty rolls her eyes. "That's it, I can't be seen in public with you."

"Hey, I'm doing _you_ a favor," Colleen says as she hops in, and Misty grins at her with those sparkly, sparkly lips.

 

*

 

The club is called Dead Beat. Misty pays their cover charge and snugs an arm around Colleen's waist as they mosey in. She's warm and solid against Colleen's side, her flesh-and-blood arm resting lightly just above Colleen's hip. Colleen tries not to enjoy it too much, and then gives up and decides that she's going to enjoy it as much as she wants; it'll make up for the rest of the experience.

Inasmuch as Colleen has a scene, this is pretty much the opposite of it: throbbing music and flashing lights and twenty-somethings in tight leather pants and midriff-exposing hipster plaid shirts. Misty is probably fifteen years older than anyone else here, but in the glitter paint and the sequins, she looks weirdly at home, and nobody glances at her twice. It's strange how Misty has that quality to her, the ability to switch between her usual take-no-shit self and an almost chameleonic ability to blend in.

Leaning closer, Colleen murmurs, "I think I like it better when the bad guys hang out in seedy dockside bars."

"Maybe these are a different class of bad guys." 

"Yes, the ones with awful taste in music _and_ clients."

Misty laughs. "Aren't you going to ask me to dance? You're a terrible date."

"Someone's not getting lucky tonight," Colleen mutters, lacing her arms around Misty's neck. Misty promptly reaches up and unlaces them. "Hey!" Colleen protests.

"You see anyone else slow-dancing here tonight? This ain't 50s Night in the old folks home." Misty swings her hips. Colleen tries not to be mesmerized. "Come on, Wing. Shake it."

"Oh, I'll shake it, all right. See if you can keep up."

The thing is, she might not know the steps to any popular dances, but she _can_ move. Once she gets the rhythm of the music, it's not so different from doing katas, the music flowing through her and moving her as much as she's moving to its beat. 

She swings in close, bumping and grinding against Misty, who looks down at her with eyes that are framed by a glittery mask in the club's lights and murmurs, "Damn, girl."

And Misty settles her hands loosely on Colleen's waist, not holding exactly, but framing her in a loose grasp that keeps them together as they move and grind and slide through the pumping bodies around them. It's hot in here; Colleen's neck and back prickle with sweat. Or maybe that's her proximity to Misty, an electric flush across her skin. 

Misty leans close; she's smiling, and Colleen finds herself half-opening her mouth, only to have Misty slide close to her ear and murmur, "He's at the bar."

There's a few seconds when the back of Colleen's brain just goes _What_ and then she remembers, oh that's right, she's here to help Misty catch an asshole who's selling rave drugs to twenty-somethings in Chinatown.

Misty is already arrowing through the crowd. Colleen gets her breath back and eels after her.

A few minutes later (a few very active minutes, featuring -- among other things -- Colleen rolling across the bar and getting some kind of sticky drink on her best black jeans) Misty has their hipster drug dealer in handcuffs, protesting loudly about police brutality and lawyers.

"And I never even got to try one of those glow-in-the-blacklight drinks," Misty remarks as she perpwalks the guy across the dance floor while nearby clubbers take cell phone pictures.

"If it's any consolation, I'm now wearing one." Colleen brushes at her damp, sticky hip and curls her right hand loosely into a fist. The dragon tattoo itches. It always feels weird, now, to get into a fight and not call on the Iron Fist, like there's a dragon inside her that wants to fight and has to be pushed back down into its lair.

It doesn't help that she's still breathless and hyper from the dancing, from the club, from _Misty._ She wants to fight, she wants to run, she wants ...

She _wants_ to throw Misty against the wall and grind on Misty's leg and kiss her senseless, but maybe that's just the adrenaline crash talking.

Misty glances at her as they exit the club. "You okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Just wondering if you were going to run Whitey McDrugdealerson uptown and leave me to catch an Uber back home."

"Shit." Misty laughs at that. "I forgot I'm your ride. Want to tag along to the station with me, watch me fill out paperwork?"

"You really know how to show a girl a good time."

"Hey, I need to call my lawyer," McDrugdealerson tries to interrupt.

"Oh, shut up," Misty says, shoving him into the back of her car.

 

*

 

The station is fairly quiet, though Misty gets some whistles when she walks in, glittering. Colleen opts to sit out the cheerful trash talk and wait in Misty's office. She's still keyed up, jittery. She flexes her hand and watches the tattoo move across the muscles and tendons under the skin. She's just thinking about going for a run when Misty taps on the door and spins her keys in her left hand. "Sorry about that. Ready to get out of here?"

Misty has wiped off the glitter paint, but she's still wearing the sequins and mesh -- now with a red leather jacket on top of it that somehow still makes her look stylish. "Hey," she says as they leave the station, bumping Colleen's hip with her own and making Colleen think, again, of grinding against her in the club. "I appreciate the assist. Don't let anybody tell you that you can't dance."

Colleen snorts. "I can't help feeling like I was a little bit extraneous there. You could've taken down that guy with one hand and one leg tied behind your back."

Misty unlocks her car and leans on the roof. "'scuze yourself, Wing, you were good camouflage. I've been after Laramie for weeks. If I walk in by myself, he'll rabbit, but he didn't look twice at a couple out for some fun."

Good camouflage. Maybe it's the excess energy still vibrating in her blood, or maybe it's the fact that she's been wondering for months how Misty's lush lips would taste, that makes her say, as they get into the car, "Is that all I was? Camouflage?"

Misty pauses with her metal fingers curled over the steering wheel. She turns and looks at Colleen, a long thoughtful look, almost like she's seeing her for the first time. And Colleen wishes, suddenly, that she hadn't said anything; it's _good,_ what she and Misty have, and she's never said anything before because she needs at least _one_ relationship in her life that isn't complicated and hopelessly tangled up.

And then Misty says, "Is that what you wanted to be?"

Colleen just starts to shake her head, but Misty reaches out and touches her chin, a brush of cool metal fingers, and then she lifts the thumb with exquisite gentleness to brush its metal tip across Colleen's bottom lip.

"Girl," Misty says, her voice soft, "I've been thinking about how that mouth might taste since I met you."

Colleen moves forward -- almost flings herself, hip clocks into the console between the seats but she doesn't care, and her teeth clash against Misty's. It's hard and hot and then fading into something gentle toward the end, and then Misty just cups Colleen's face in her hands for a minute and they look into each other's eyes, grinning.

"So," Misty says at last.

"So."

"So you want to get food, or you want to go somewhere?"

"Somewhere like where?" Colleen asks, a little breathless. She can still taste Misty on her lips, the lingering traces of glittery lipstick.

"Somewhere like your place or mine."

"Which one's closer?"

 

*

 

They head to the dojo, which isn't exactly closer but is more of a straight shot with the traffic. Misty leaves the car double-parked and they're kissing as they stumble inside, Colleen shedding her jacket on the floor, and then she has Misty against the wall and she's grinding on Misty with her hands tangled in Misty's hair and Misty's teeth scraping her neck and Misty's metal hand hooked in the waistband of her jeans.

"I gotta take you dancing more often," Misty pants when they come up for air. She's amused and bright-eyed and grinning and clearly into it.

"I just ... get horny, when I fight." It always used to be that way, or well, more like keyed up and hyper-aware of the world, of her own body, of everything around her -- but the Iron Fist has taken it to a new level.

"If this is what you're like after taking down a yuppie drug dealer in a nightclub, I can't wait to see what happens the next time we go up against some real muscle."

"Less talking," Colleen says, and her mouth closes over Misty's again and she wraps her legs around Misty's muscular thigh as Misty unfastens Colleen's jeans.

 

*

 

After, they're lying on the floor of the dojo in a tangle of discarded clothing, sweat drying on their bodies, when Colleen takes a deep breath and says, "I'm hungry."

Misty huffs a laugh into her neck. "That's the most stereotypical guy thing anybody's ever said to me after sex."

Colleen punches her in the arm, not hard. "It's my chi. Fighting takes a lot out of me these days." So does sex, apparently -- it's the first time she's had sex since getting the Fist, not that she plans to tell Misty that. "I need to eat."

"Lucky for you, I'm hungry too, or I might be offended." Misty sits up and picks up the mesh shirt with two fingers, then lets it drop. "Don't suppose you have anything to wear that's not ... this."

"Nothing that'll fit you," Colleen says, eyeing Misty's muscular shoulders and distracting curves. "Except ... wait. I have the perfect thing."

"Oh, Lord," Misty says when Colleen drops the Luke Cage brand hoodie into her lap.

"It's that, or ..." Colleen hooks the mesh shirt with her toe and flips it to catch it. "This."

"Swear to me, Wing, you are never, _never_ telling him."

Colleen doesn't tell him; instead, she surreptitiously takes a picture and texts it to him. She figures she has some ideas for getting back on Misty's good side later.


End file.
